Swingset
by Yemam2422
Summary: *Starts after 2x10* They meet at the swing sets every Thursday now. The routine happens without either of them asking or planning. They meet late, always when the park is mostly empty. Beth brings Emma, Rio brings Marcus. This hour becomes an unspoken truce. The rules are unspoken. They never talk about business. They never miss a Thursday.


The park is mostly empty when Rio finds Beth on the swingset. The fall air is cool and comfortable but crisp enough that Beth is bundled in a scarf and he's in a beanie. Marcus sprints off to find Emma at the jungle gym, two fast friends. As for he and Beth, well, she probably had the right idea by not trying to label them.

Beth is on a swing, a loose grip on the chains, one toe on the ground barely swaying back and forth. Her hair falls forward, covering her face, but he can see she's lost in thought somewhere faraway.

Rio sits on the swing next to her, careful to not move too much. To keep the distance Beth wanted.

He wasn't surprised to get a text from her. He knew it would happen. Frustration had filled his veins after she told him she was done. But it was temporary. He told Beth he knew her. And he did. Does. Being a boss bitch was who she was now, was part of her now. She was stubborn but so was he. And he was patient.

Beth looks at him hesitantly, trying to gauge his mood through his devilish poker face.

"I'm off your blocked list?" he asks with a smirk, amusement in his tone.

He watches Marcus straight ahead, fearlessly climbing and jumping over the tunnels and bars. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Beth is taking her time to say something.

"Thank you." The words feel enormously inadequate to her. His warning about the FBI was more than a favor, more than a courtesy. How do you thank someone for saving your life? Silence falls between them, uncertainty ping pongs in the air. Beth clears her throat before continuing.

"Why?" Streaks of guilt tinge her weighty question. Rio tangled in her sheets was supposed to her last beautifully tortured memory of him. But instead, there he was at the park, calm, cool and collected despite the urgency of his news. The pull of his voice, body, of everything he offered overwhelmed her, tempted her. Even in those brief moments on the bench, he looked at her in the way only he could - as if he could see through her.

Rio starts to sway his swing the slightest bit, side to side instead of back and forth.

"We're partners," he says. He wants to say more, but that tingling pull in his chest is back. He'd felt it before with her, only with her. That same pull that made him want to show her what tomorrow, next month, next year, eternity could be like if she stayed by his side. Maybe life didn't have to be lonely at the top.

"I said I was done."

Rio starts to move his swing in a lazy circle.

"I don't believe you." He answers so certainly, so clearly that it hooks into Beth's chest, stuns her into silence.

"Heard you were pretty impressive with the feds," Rio says with a laugh. Of course she was. He shifts his body, putting more weight behind the arch of his swing, rocking it closer to her. "Offered them a government discount and everything."

Beth couldn't fight the smile tugging at her lips. The look on Agent Turner's face was priceless as she walked out of the bathroom, called him James. She kept her cool, fueled by the thrill. Rio made her that way. He'd pulled out all the best parts of her, parts of her she didn't even know existed.

"How do you even know that?"

"I have my ways. You know that."

Rio gives a good push off his leg so there's barely any distance between their swings now, the seats gently touching, the back of their hands brushing as they come together then move apart. All he wants to do is touch her, talk to her. Rio lingers on the last time he touched her, how Beth let herself go with him.

Beth's breathe catches. These are the moments that turn her upside down. It's not the FBI – that feels fun. It's not a gun to her head – that's become normal now. It's these moments. When Rio is all she sees, hears, smells. When he dissolves everything else around her – especially the reason to stay away.

Shadows start to play over them as dusk moves in. Rio roams his eyes over her, full on and directly. No more side glances, backward looks.

When her eyes lock on his, he asks, "So you're all good then?" Somewhere Agent Turner and his minions are doing their best to put her in jail. And Beth doesn't care. Because Rio is next to her.

"Yes," she says with a faint smile, her voice sliding into that relaxed tone she had only started using around him right before she decided she was done.

He sees that spark in her eyes. That same spark when she proposed cleaning cash at Superstore, when she asked him for bigger jobs. He sees the flash of desire she tries to keep hidden from him. That same flash when she pointed a gun at him, when she walked toward him in her bedroom with mismatched socks.

He sees her. Sees it all. And he hears what she doesn't say. I want back in

* * *

They meet at the swing sets every Thursday now. The routine happens without either of them asking or planning. They meet late, always when the park is mostly empty. Beth brings Emma, Rio brings Marcus. Their cover. The kids play, Beth and Rio sit in the fragile light of dusk, gently swaying back and forth. This hour becomes an unspoken truce. Switzerland in their unusual battle, a détente in their chaos of money, pills, body parts, power. The rules are unspoken. They never talk about business. They never miss a Thursday.

The first time, Rio catches Beth by surprise. She watches him, mouth open in shock, until he sits on the swing next to her. But she doesn't say anything. Neither does he. Rio uses the small lazy circle of his swing for words. Slowly pushing his swing closer to hers in their unusual side to side pattern, until they gently come together – hands brushing – then move apart. Back and forth, over and over.

Beth eventually breaks the silence.

"Marcus is quite the athlete." Their kids are neutral ground, safe territory. Marcus plays soccer at the park all the time. She knows he plays baseball from her stakeout of Rio. And now he is shooting a basketball into a small hoop, making more shots than he misses, Emma his eager rebounder.

"He loves to win."

"He gets that from his dad."

"Not a bad thing, is it?"

"No, not necessarily. Depends on what you're going after."

* * *

"Mommy, can I have a snack?" Emma asks breathlessly, racing to make her break as short as possible so she can get back to the monkey bars with Marcus.

Beth, always prepared, pulls out a mini bag of goldfish from her purse, opening it before handing it to Emma along with her water bottle.

"Here you go. And share with Marcus."

"I don't like this flavor. I like the rainbow ones."

"What do I always tell you? You get what you get and you don't get upset."

Emma runs back to the playground, goldfish in hand, her disappointment quickly forgotten.

"Where'd you learn that saying?"

"My mom."

"Smart lady."

"Tough lady."

Beth's response is quiet, her head lowering, telling Rio there's more to the story. He dips his toe in.

"Rough childhood?"

"No." Beth didn't often talk about her childhood. It was muddy trying to explain to someone what you didn't fully understand yourself. The past was not a place she chose to dwell. "Every family is different. Could have been worse."

"That bad, huh?"

"My mom had mental health issues," Beth's not sure why she's sharing so much. Maybe because Rio listens as well, and as much, as he talks. "My dad didn't know how to deal. I became the parent pretty early on."

Rio understands how Beth came to be the woman in front of him. Strong, determined, resourceful. Talking her way out of getting shot – more than once. Wrapping herself in a drop cloth to get into his apartment. He also feels sorry for the young version of Beth, the girl with little affection and fun in her life.

"You didn't turn out bad. You should be proud of yourself."

As Rio is prone to do, he stuns Beth into silence by acknowledging her, celebrating her. She recovers and digs into her purse, pulling out another snack bag, this one filled with bright orange pieces.

"Here," she throws the bag at Rio who catches it with one hand.

"Cheetos?"

"Your favorite, right?"

"How did you know?"

"I have my ways."

After last week's swing set, Emma asked Beth if they could play 'Cheeto Monster.' Beth learned that both Marcus and Rio love Cheetos, and Rio chases Marcus around with orange stained fingers whenever they eat them. She couldn't resist buying a bag when she passed through the chip aisle at the grocery store.

* * *

There's the night Rio shows up and Beth can see he is tired, or sad, or both. It's in the shadows around his eyes, in the slow weight of his steps, the slump of his shoulders, the stillness of his swing. A rare departure from his usual swagger. Beth fights the immediate urge to soothe him.

"Everything okay?" she asks instead.

"Yeah." His answer is curse, incomplete.

"Well, whatever you do, just don't smile."

"What?"

"Absolutely do not smile." Beth emphasizes each syllable. She plays this game when her kids are in a bad mood, letting them feel cranky but telling them that under no circumstances can they smile. She exaggerates it so much that they ultimately do, often with everyone ending in hysterical laughter, their bad mood long forgotten.

Rio smirks, a mix of confusion and amusement.

"I'm serious," Beth continues, keeping her tone deadly serious. "You better not smile."

Rio fights the tug at the corner of his lips.

"Are you about to smile?" Beth asks. "Don't do it. No matter what, you cannot smile."

Finally Rio breaks, a full blown smile lighting his face.

* * *

"You want a push?" Rio asks, about a month into their ritual.

"No thanks." Beth usually keeps at least a toe on the ground, allowing for only a light swing, but tonight she's kicking her legs to get some air.

"You sure?"

"Okay, just a small one."

Rio stands behind her, catches her back with both hands on the backswing and pushes her forward – hard – doubling the arch of her swing.

"Rio!" Beth yells in laughter, pumping her legs to keep the momentum.

He does it again on each return trip, pushing her higher and higher. Beth closes her eyes, lets her head fall back, weightless, lost in the moment. The wind blows through her hair, her body, taking all of her worries with it.

Eventually, Rio lets her come to a slow stop. Beth stands up, turns around to face him, her fingers overlapping his as she grips the chains.

She's out of breath, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes glazed. Rio takes a mental snapshot, adds it to his collection. It feels like a lifetime since he's seen Beth look like this. That afternoon in her bedroom. Those hours are still vivid in his mind. It's the unexpected intimacy that haunts him most. Briefly, before quickly pulling it back, she let him see the hidden part of her who wants to open her heart and share it.

"Thank you," Beth says, her voice husky, noticing how close they are standing, only the small swing seat separating them. "I haven't done that in a long time. It was fun."

"What are friends for?"

"So we're friends?"

"Aren't we?"

* * *

There's the time, several weeks into their routine, Rio shows up and Beth isn't on her swing. The left one is hers. He scans the park and finds her by the seesaw with a man he doesn't recognize. The man has a hand on her shoulder, standing unusually close as they talk. His vision turns viciously bright green.

"Sorry," Beth says when she eventually walks up to him, not sure what she's apologizing for. "Paula is trying to play matchmaker with a dad she knows from her tennis club."

"Oh yeah? He looks like a real winner."

"Jealous?"

His eyes flash to hers.

"No. Just an observation." Rio tells himself he's not jealous. He is simply protecting Beth. Keeping her away from anyone looking to take advantage of a new divorcee.

"I see." Beth pauses. "I'm not interested, anyway."

Beth isn't interested in dating. Or meeting anyone new. She's interested in enjoying these simple moments on the swings. Just him and her. For as long as it lasts.

* * *

The swings become healing. Beth learns to draw in cleansing breaths, let them out slowly, in tune with the rhythm of the swings. The stiffness in Rio's shoulders dissipates the instant he's on the cold medal next to Beth, swaying back and forth.

* * *

One night, the swing set ritual turns into dinner. Marcus begs for Emma to come over so she can see his Pokemon card collection, maybe make a trade if the deal is right. Both kids are insistent and persistent, neither parent can reason their way out of it. Neither really want to.

Now that she's actually invited in to Rio's home, Beth takes her time slowly looking around. Rio is everywhere in the space. Part broody and shadowy, part bright and joyful. The scents are both new and familiar. Streaks of green, a mix of shapes and textures fill the canvasses on the walls. She doesn't understand all the artwork and decorations but they make her feel. Just like the man who owned them, who was standing by the stove making spaghetti.

"Do you ever have any problems with staining on your backsplash?" she asks with a smirk as she stands next to him, nodding to the bright green tile.

"Of course not," Rio replies with an easy smile, joining her in the memory of their first encounter.

"Can I help?"

"Have a seat. Relax." He pours her a glass of bourbon.

He puts the bottle back on a shelf, the liquor organized by color and height.

"You like things in their place, don't you?"

"Sure. It makes life simpler. Aren't you the same?"

"Sure. I deal better with things when I have a plan. When I know what I'm doing."

What they were doing with each other – with this connection between them that is strengthening - remains unspoken.

* * *

A normal evening on the swings takes an unexpected turn when Rio silently reaches a hand across the distance between them. Beth lifts her gaze, finds him looking directly into her eyes. She thinks touching him will be a mistake but she reaches across to meet him in the middle, links her fingers with his as they rock back and forth, in sync. She looks down at their hands. So different. Hers narrow and pale and delicate. His wide and tan and strong. But look how they fit together.

* * *

Beth hadn't expected to fall in love on a swing set. And definitely not with a criminal. But she did. Head over heels with Rio. She tries to convince herself its misplaced gratitude. For him coming into her life, letting her into his business, at a low and desperate point. She wants to believe she can walk away from him whole and intact. But she knows better. He's seeped into her, she'll carry parts of him forever. When she looks at him on the swing next to hers, she sees a perfectly imperfect man. It isn't just the looks and charm. He works hard, he says what he means, he is a caring father, he has integrity and ambition. He's dangerous, too. But he will never hurt her. She knows that. He's exactly everything she wants.

Rio appreciates putting his temper, mind, emotions against an equal. That equal is Beth. Falling in love with her wasn't a jolt or shock to his system. That happened months ago. Probably when she first called him an idiot while a gun was pointed to her head. He'd been afraid that if he allowed himself to feel this way that he'd be lost. But, no. This is a clear and warm understanding. He accepts he'd been heading here all along.


End file.
